


Sail away (again)

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I'm searching for tags now, M/M, Mission Fic, Seasickness, Sickfic, That's all there is, Vomiting, but also not really, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: This time, it's Bucky who can't stomach the boat ride.





	Sail away (again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jyoshamatsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jyoshamatsu/gifts).



> This is a prompt from Tumblr. Find me @builder051
> 
> It seems we cannot get enough of this scenario, and I'm milking it for all it's worth.

Bucky balances his elbows on the railing and bows his head so wind and sea spray filter through his hair and cool his cheeks.  They’ve only been on the boat for twenty minutes, barely enough time for the dock to disappear from sight.  But he’s ready to get off.

 

“How’s it going?”  Steve materializes at Bucky’s side and leans on the rail so they’re shoulder to shoulder.  Steve’s arm presses into Bucky’s metal one.  He can’t feel him per se, but he’s aware of the touch and the associated body heat.  It’s soothing, but also uncomfortable.  Sweat’s prickling through the stubble on his upper lip.

 

Bucky shrugs.

 

“You nervous?”  Steve looks sideways at him.  “You look…”  He trails off, probably trying to be concerned without being insulting.

 

Bucky bites his lip and plays with the zipper on his tactical vest.  He feels like he’s choking even though the stiff fabric isn’t touching his throat. He pulls it down to his collarbones so the cold ocean air flows around his neck.

 

“You’ve been doing great in training,” Steve carries on.  “Nothing to worry about.  We got an hour or so till we get there anyway.  No need to get keyed up yet.”

 

He has to endure this for another goddamn hour?  Bucky sucks in his breath.  “Mm.”  The mission is sinking to the bottom of his list of priorities as the taste of bile seeps up his throat.

 

Why is this happening?  Did Hydra do something that knocked off his sense of equilibrium?  Seems a poor quality to have in an asset.  Unless it’s some kind of failsafe, to keep him from hijacking a boat and escaping…  It’s too complicated to think about.

 

Or did this always happen and he just doesn’t remember?  Bucky knows he used to work on the docks.  Steve’s told him so.  Did that involve boats?  It’s all a blank.

 

“Buck?”  Steve pats him on the back, sending vibrations through his vest, under his skin, and down to his ribcage where they compete with the flutter of his heartbeat.

 

Bucky’s knees feel weak.  He struggles to swallow the excess saliva swishing around his molars.

 

“Hey.  Talk to me.”

 

But he can’t open his mouth.  All channels in his brain are shutting off.  He can’t move.  He can’t think.  But he’s not in the chair.  Nobody said the sequence.  This is all wrong.

 

In his peripheral vision, Bucky can see Steve’s mouth moving.  But his hearing is reduced to a dull buzz.  His jaw is about to unhinge.  He’s going to fall apart.  Or maybe pass out.

 

Pressure explodes in his sinuses, and Bucky involuntarily tips over the railing and retches.  He should’ve been expecting it, but the mental fog is making it impossible to pull any pieces together.

 

“Whoa, alright.”  Steve slips his arm around Bucky’s shoulders to keep him from falling forward.  Though collapsing backward seems equally likely.

 

Bucky heaves again and comes up coughing.  He blinks hard to get his bearings.  “Sorry,” he grunts.  “I…don’t feel good.”

 

“Yeah, that’s…that’s ok.”  Steve squeezes his arm.  “I didn’t think you got seasick.”

 

“I, uh…I don’t know.”  Bucky wipes his mouth on his sleeve, but it makes no difference.  He gives in to another gag, catching the rail as he spills his stomach into the ocean again.

 

“Alright, breathe,” Steve reminds him.

 

But Bucky’s throat is in full contraction.  Drawing in air seems impossible.  He finally gasps an inhale that’s as much aerosolized spit as it is oxygen.

 

“You’re ok.”

 

“Mm.”  Bucky tries to agree, but his knees buckle.  He grasps the railing tightly in his metal fingers, warping it to the shape of his grip.

 

Steve scrambles to lower him to the deck.  “Just sit down.  Here, get your bearings.”

 

“Christ,” Bucky wheezes.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.  You can’t help it.”  Steve squats beside him.  “Do you, uh, feel better now?”

 

“No.”  Bucky quells a burp behind his fist.

 

Steve makes a sympathetic sound.  “I’ll get you a bag or something.”  He looks around as if unsure of leaving Bucky alone.  “Or if you want to go below deck?  Sit down for a while?”

 

“I’m fine,” Bucky chokes out.  But his insides are swirling.  Even his liquefied brain is sloshing back and forth with the motion of the boat.

 

“Just relax for a minute.  I’ll be right back.”  Steve squeezes his arm and straightens up.  Bucky can’t watch him move.  He can’t nod either. The vertigo is already threatening to knock him flat.

 

He takes a slow breath in through his nose.  But instead of the freshness of sea air, all he can smell is his own stomach acid.  His throat goes into contraction before he can stop it, and he vomits down the front of his vest.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters.  Bucky buries his face in his elbow and grinds his teeth against the nausea.

 

Cold sweat drips down his back, and a tremor starts up in his clenched jaw.  His hands and feet are freezing, but heat blooms everywhere else.

 

“Oh, geez.  Ok.”  Steve’s back.  He has a bottle of water and a white plastic bucket he got from who knows where.  “Here.”  He edges the bucket into Bucky’s lap.  The visual is enough to send him heaving again.

 

Strings of bile cling to his lips, and no amount of spitting can force them to detach.  He rests his forehead on the rim of the bucket and just lets them dangle, too winded to do anything else.

 

“Alright.”  Steve pats him on the back again.  “Do you want to try some water?  See if we can get you feeling yourself again?”

 

Bucky wants to say no.  He doesn’t want to put anything in his system, preferably ever again.  But he’s supposed to be on a mission.  He can’t be this out of control.  “Hm,” is the best he can manage.  

 

“There you go.”  Steve hands over the bottle.  Bucky takes it in his left hand.  The shakiness in his core leaches through his shoulder and into the metal arm, and he can barely get the quivering drink to his lips.

 

“Good,” Steve encourages when Bucky manages to swallow a couple sips.  “Take some deep breaths.”

 

God help him, he tries.  But the filling of his lungs is interrupted barely a minute later as the water rejects and splashes back up.  “Ugh.”  Bucky drags his sleeve over his sweat-soaked brow, then embeds his hand in his hair.  He can’t tell if the pressure is adding to his headache or relieving it.

 

Steve sighs.  “Do you want to, uh, try again?  Or at least swish out…?”

 

Bucky shakes his head miserably.

 

“Aw, Buck.”  

 

A few uncomfortable minutes pass, then Steve shifts so he’s on his knees at Bucky’s eye level.  “I hate to ask, but do you feel like this is gonna let up?”  Lines of concern etch into his forehead.

 

“I don’t know.” Bucky pants.  He clears his throat and spits.

 

“It’s ok if it’s not.  You don’t have to do this.  I can call for backup.”

 

“I’m ok.  Don’t…worry about me.”

 

“Buck, come on.  Do you still feel like you’re gonna throw up?”

 

“I don’t know.  Maybe.”  Bucky manages to hold off for a few seconds before he dry heaves.

 

“Ok.  It’s ok.  I promise, it’s fine.”  Steve rubs his shoulders, then settles his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck.  “I’m gonna call Fury, ok?  I’m gonna get you home.”

 

“No, no, I’m alright—”

 

“Shhh, just ride it out.  Don’t think about anything else.”

 

It’s an impossible thing to ask.  If Bucky weren’t so dizzy, he’d be mortified.  He can hear the low echo of Steve’s voice beside him as he makes the call, though it sounds miles away.

 

“Fury, yeah, I need backup,” he says over his comm.

 

“I know, we’re not there yet.  There’s a problem.  You have to send another team.

 

“Nothing, Buck’s just real sick.

 

“I don’t know.  He can’t hold down water.  I’ll bring him in to medical.”

 

Bucky’s cheeks burn.  He breathes down a sick burp.

 

“Hey, stop fighting it.”  Steve taps Bucky’s arm.  Then he returns to his other conversation.  “No, we have to come back inland.  He’s gonna dehydrate.”

 

Bucky retches hard enough to send his eyes rolling back in his head.  The sounds around him dim even more, then suddenly flash back up to their normal volume.

 

“Buck, ok.  Stay with me.”  Steve snakes his arm around Bucky’s waist.  “I got you.  You’re gonna be ok.”

 

Bucky tips sideways into Steve’s chest, and Steve holds him close, paying no mind to the sick on his clothes.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky breathes again.  “I’m…sorry.  I’m supposed to be…above this.”  He hiccups and swallows thickly.  It seems impossible for him to still be this nauseous.

 

“Naw, happens to everyone.  It’s ok.”  He pushes Bucky’s hair back.  “I’ll get you home.  It’ll be a little while, though.”

 

“Mm.”  His head spins, igniting the sensation of free fall even though he’s sitting still.  Bucky unlatches his right hand from Steve’s elbow and inches along until he finds his hand.  “Just…don’t let go.”


End file.
